A Thrilling Swiss Enlightenment

((Authors Note -- just taking a break from my Batgirl series. This story came to mind a few months ago so I thought that I'd share it with you. I hope that you like it.

Always happy to hear what you think -- please comment if you'd like to.

Please note that I posted this originally under the wrong category - my mistake (slapped wrist!) so I've resubmitted it into its correct slot - hope that doesn't confuse anyone.

Now, back to resurrecting Batgirl from a fate worse than .........!

Duke))

Title - A Thrilling Swiss Enlightenment

It was just a strange co-incidence.

I'd finished a business appointment early and was at a bit of a loose end prior to meeting up with a close friend. I'd dithered for a few minutes outside South Kensington Underground Station wondering whether to walk up the Brompton Road and dash into Harrods for half an hour or so. I'd paused when I hit the warm, dusty outside world though because, frankly, if I'd got in there I'd probably have ended up being late and my credit card would have looked distinctly the worse for wear yet again!

It was late September, 1995 in London. Despite being born and brought up in the country, I'd lived there for a large part of my fifty three years and a quick glance at the warm, sunny sky hadn't fooled me. I could see clouds building up to the West already and the feel of the breeze picking up on my cheeks and wafting at my light, summery dress told me better than any Met Office weatherman that it would soon be umbrella time again!

So that ruled out a walk in Hyde Park as well. I'd considered the Museums for a moment, but the Science Museum had never attracted me, I knew the V&A inside out and the Natural History Museum was too full of painful memories. That had settled it then. I'd decided to go straight to the nearby little Italian coffee house where my friend and I regularly met with the intention of enjoying a few of Luigi's special cappuccinos and maybe a piece of illegal (for me!) tiramisu. After all, nobody would know!

The coffee shop was hidden down a back street, a delightful old place, full of wooden panelling, ancient chairs and tables and dominated by the silver monster behind the bar where Luigi had been dispensing his expressos and home-made cakes for longer than I cared to think. He was a gregarious old man, full of bubbling chatter that he showered over his customers like a mother hen. As I'd crossed the threshold, he'd spotted me instantly waving brightly as he dealt with another customer.

"Ciao Signora Parsons, you 'maka' my day again!"

It was like being part of a large family!

"Ciao Luigi," I'd replied with a little more English reserve, "Capuccino and one of your special cakes please."

I pointed to a small table in the corner with a window view, I hadn't needed to say what type of cake. It had been like a standing order when I was alone!

As I'd crossed the room, I'd picked up one of the newspapers that Luigi liked to scatter across the room, throwing it casually onto the table while I sat down and settled myself to wait for the coffee. Then, as I'd reached forward to pick it up I'd frozen. There had been something familiar about the black and white picture of the man looking back at me. In the end it had been the fact that the newspaper was open at the obituaries page that had really hit me.

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'Monsieur Bertrand Pascale -- Renowned French Novelist and Playright'

Apparently he'd died of a stroke three days ago, on 25th September 1995, aged 65 years and leaving a wife and six children. I'd shaken my head a little at the thought. Amazing! How had he found the time!

Even more amazing, since I'd not even seen the man for over thirty years, I'd found that a drop of moisture had materialised in the corner of my eye.

Then, with eyes focussed somewhere between the iron railings outside and Outer Mongolia, my mind had gone tumbling back to Switzerland in that magical Winter/Spring of 1964/5.

I'd been enrolled by my father in the Institut Chateau Briaxand, a small and exclusive 'Finishing School' for young ladies. I suspect that it was because he didn't know what else to do with me. He was a career officer in the British Army and, although he doted on me he was always somewhat correct and 'distant'. The warmth in my family had come from my mother, but that had been ripped away from me when she was killed in a car accident when I was fifteen. Since then I'd spent most of my time in a minor English boarding school, where I'd achieved surprisingly good academic results.

When I'd come home that final Summer in 1964, a somewhat naive eighteen-year-old and full of hope for a career somewhere, but not quite sure exactly where, my father had stunned my by announcing that I was going away for a further year to be 'finished'. I was far too well-mannered to complain, and after all it would be a year spent in the Swiss Alps, but I wasn't overwhelmingly enthusiastic, especially when I read the brochure and saw the emphasis on etiquette, table arrangements, flower displays and guest and household management!

A 'Finishing School' wasn't that unusual in those days, but it was normally for young women a little above my station in life. I'd wondered where my father had got the money, and was a little disappointed that I was being 'packed off' again just when I was hoping to get closer to him. Later I found out that he'd served abroad with the brother of one of the owners. An early example to me of the power of 'networking'!

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So, there I was in the Autumn of 1964, one 'young lady' amongst twenty eight others settling into an absolutely divine looking Swiss chateaux. It was a large, white stoned structure, full of interesting nooks and crannies with those marvellous conical grey slated towers so common among that type of building. It was set into a steep hillside overlooking a small lake and surrounded by large bright green grassy grounds with little copses of firs and rhododendron bushes dotted almost haphazardly around it. The air was so fresh and clean that it felt like another planet after a few months in hazy London.

I fell in love with the place immediately and soon set aside my feelings of disquiet as I realised that I wasn't going to 'fit in' with the other girls very quickly. It was a problem that I'd had all my life. It takes me a long time to build close relationships, and although friendly enough, I was instinctively wary of the little cliques that the other girls seemed to naturally fall into. It was also probably because I'd actually felt a little inferior. I'm amazed now, looking back, that I could possibly have felt that way, but among my 'class-mates' had been a couple of minor European royal princesses, a whole bundle of 'Lady' this and that and some foreign girls with titles that I'd never heard of!

It was why, on that particular Sunday afternoon in early October, I'd decided to settle down with a book to read on my own, whilst also soaking up some of the bright sunshine that was fortunately still keeping us warm in something of an 'Indian Summer'. I'd found a secluded spot in the grounds away from the main building to lie down on the grass and open my book. It was a piece of literature that our French professor, a dapper young man that I'd guessed to be in his early thirties had let one of the other girls have. It was now doing the rounds after news of its shocking content had spread amongst us like wildfire. It was called 'Les Liaisons Dangeroux' and I'd been eager to find out if the rumours were true, as well as to improve my French of course!

But I'd only been reading for just a few minutes though when I heard the sound of footsteps on a path behind a bush that was shielding me from the chateaux. I was about to shut the book in case it turned out to be one of the staff, when one of the girl's came into view. It was Charlotte, a tall, statuesque young woman who, despite her name, came from a long established Hertfordshire family. Her long blonde hair was piled up on her head and she was dressed in a simple cream blouse, wide brown belt and sweeping beige skirt that swirled around her knees as she kept turning to look behind her, as if she was being followed.

It was this repeated turning round and looking over her shoulder that had attracted my attention. She clearly hadn't seen me behind the bush, and I was partly hidden by a small hillock as she descended further down the path. It was intriguing. Who could she be hiding from? The sense of intrigue increased still further when I watched her reach the bottom of the hill where a grounds-man's wooden hut stood in the shade of some tall pines. She stopped, looking around even more warily, before pulling open the door and stepping in. How positively mysterious? Charlotte wasn't unkind, but she was so full of herself and her 'position' in life, that the thought of her suddenly taking an interest in gardening had made me chuckle in disbelief!

After she'd disappeared into the hut, I'd watched for a few minutes but she didn't re-appear, so I'd turned back to my book, only to find that I couldn't now concentrate on classic French literature whilst my mind was constantly wondering what Charlotte could possibly be up to. In the end I'd given in to my curiosity and had closed my book and sauntered down the hillside to the hut. I'd convinced myself that I needed to check that she was alright, but actually I just couldn't resist a bit of a mystery.

When I got there I'd heard muffled sounds from inside, but nothing intelligible, so I went round the side to where I'd known that there was a window. I'd been in two minds whether to take a peak. It was a contest between my sensible 'don't intrude' side and my emotional, "I wonder what she's up to?" side. It was no contest as I'd glanced round to see if anyone else was watching before peaking into the inside and freezing, wide eyed, in my tracks!

Charlotte had been in there all right. She'd had her arms around a man and was kissing him furiously, her hands running over his shoulders and through his short dark hair. It was the identity of the man that had frozen me to the spot though. It had been none other than our young French professor, and he had been kissing Charlotte back just as enthusiastically, his lips working hard against hers.

I'd known that I should have turned and walked away, but when he'd pulled back a little and his small fingers began to unbutton Charlotte's blouse, my mouth had opened wider and my feet had stayed still! It had taken him just seconds to ease open each of the small, pearl buttons and to spread apart the soft blouse, displaying a rather cute, creamy lace half-cup bra. It was so much nicer than anything I had possessed at that time that I'd been gripped by a moment's jealousy, especially as it had seemed solely designed to make the most of Charlotte's modest breasts, pushing them together to create a dreamy piece of cleavage. Our French professor had not been slow to notice either as his hand had quickly covered the delicate material and began to gently caress the rounded orb. The effect on Charlotte had been electric as she'd stiffened in his arms and begun to kiss him even harder.

This had only lasted for a few minutes as, impatiently, his hand had slid round, under the gaping blouse to find her bra fastening. I'd watched in almost disbelief at how quickly the fingers had done their job, releasing the bra and urgently pushing it up and away from her pert breasts.

He'd immediately pulled away from her embrace a little so that he could admire her firm breasts, each one tipped by a long, pink nipple standing proud and surrounded by small rings of brown. Almost in slow-motion his hand had crept forward to cup the taut flesh, his finger and thumb closing around the erect nipple. Charlotte's head had shot back and her mouth opened in a silent gasp as she'd felt the electric response from her sensitive nipple. I still hadn't been able to move, hypnotised almost be the sensuality of it all.

His head had now bent down to her bosom, so that his lips and tongue could capture the other nipple and begin to arouse Charlotte even more. For a few confused moments, I'd felt my own nipples responding to the same imagined touch. It had been incredibly confusing for me.

Things had now been getting more urgent as I watched his hand leave her breast, and run quickly down her side, tracing a path around her hips, down her legs and then disappearing under her skirt at her knees. It hadn't stayed there long! Smoothly he'd begun to draw it up the inside of her thigh, lifting her skirt with it until the tops of her tan stockings came into view. He'd paused there for a few seconds whilst his fingers had traced around the bare flesh above her stocking tops. Charlotte arms were now wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her eyes closed as if in pain. I'd suddenly realised that I'd stopped breathing and let out a long gasp myself as I watched him massage the bare flesh of her inner thighs. Charlotte had opened her legs a little to make his exploration that much easier, and my attention had been absolutely riveted on his hand as I watch it rise again, heading inexorably towards her pussy.

As her skirt had lifted higher, I'd seen that she was wearing some matching cream and lacy edged cami-knickers. I'd wondered later if that was intentional on Charlotte's part as the lack of any elastic had made it so easy for his fingers to slip inside the shiny material and begin to move around her pussy. As the fingers had disappeared out of sight I'd only been able to imagine how they must feel as they caressed and explored between her legs. Charlotte's grimace had deepened in response. If I hadn't have known better, I'd have sworn that she really was in pain, but the way that his fingers moved inside the soft knickers didn't look in the least threatening. It had just looked incredibly exciting and I had been dismayed to feel a matching tingle from my own pussy as I'd imagined what those fingers must feel like!

It had seemed that I wasn't the only one getting excited though. With a sudden burst of energy, he'd pulled back, stooping to lift up her skirt and slip and lifting them high so that he could tuck them under her brown belt over her belly. Charlotte's long, stocking clad legs and cream cami-knickers were now fully exposed. I'd had to admit that Charlotte did look gorgeous and sexy. He'd said something to her and she'd smiled, almost shyly. It had obviously been a compliment of some kind.

He'd stopped to kiss her again, his hands at her waist as their lips worked hard at each other. They'd both looked breathless when they'd pulled apart. It had looked as though he'd asked her something, and she'd nodded back urgently. He'd stooped down again as his fingers found the waistband of her knickers and he'd smoothly drawn them down, exposing Charlottes neat little triangle of blonde, curly hair, and the glistening dark slit below it. It was framed neatly by the stockings and suspenders dangling down from her waist.

Suddenly I'd been embarrassed. Surely I had to step away now? But I couldn't and hadn't. I'd become mesmerised by the erotic scene developing in front of me. I may have been blushing as I'd watched him drag the knickers over her ankles, and the tingling between my legs had developed into a pleasant little throbbing, but I could no more move away than stop breathing.

As he'd stood up again, Charlotte's hands had dropped to his waist and begun to unbuckle his belt. His hand had cupped her pussy mound and I'd watched in amazement as his fingers slipped between her wet labia lips and began to wriggle between them. The effect on Charlotte was electric as she simply froze, her hands gripping his belt and throwing her head back again, mouthing words that I couldn't hear. Soon though, her fingers had gone urgently back into action as she'd pulled open his belt, opened some buttons on his fly and started to drag down his trousers.

His white pants had quickly followed suit and I'd watched Charlottes face lighten up as she'd looked down and seen the big erection that she'd released. Her eyes had gone almost animal like as she'd hungrily devoured him, her hand grasping hold of his hot, rigid flesh. I had been getting a bit frustrated at this point because he'd turned his back to me and I'd lost sight of what was now the total focus of Charlotte's heated attention. It had been so annoying!

I hadn't been disappointed for long though. His hand had dipped hastily into one of his pockets before his trousers had descended to his ankles, and come out with a little silver packet. Charlotte had now been almost out of control though as she grabbed the little packet and ripped it open. He'd been laughing I think as she'd pulled out the condom and grasped his cock again. Fortunately for me she'd twisted him round a bit and I'd had a grandstand view as she'd slipped the head of the condom over the tip of his big cock and began to draw it urgently down it's impressive length.

It had all begun to happen fast now as he'd pushed Charlotte back against the workbench, lifting her bottom slightly so that she'd been perched on the edge. She'd dragged her legs out wide, opening her slit even further to welcome him into her, and he'd obliged immediately, standing between her splayed legs and driving his hardness straight into her. Even from outside I'd heard her cry of satisfaction as he'd filled her.

Then he'd slipped his hands around her bottom and he was pulling her back onto him, making sure he'd penetrated her as deeply as he could before his hips had begun to thrust rhythmically back and forward. Charlottes head had dropped onto his shoulder, her arms wrapped around him, but as the thrusts seemed to get became harder and deeper her head went back again, her eyes tightly shut as she concentrated on the heavenly feelings radiating out from between her legs. I knew that my mouth was open as I watched that magnetic scene unfold and I'd had to force my hands to my side as they'd drifted towards the increasingly hot spot between my own legs.

When Charlotte had finally gone rigid, and he'd powered into her for one last time before collapsing against her, I'd stopped breathing again. It was the first time that I'd seen two people having sex, and the emotions that had filled me had been bewildering!

Finally, as their lips had met again, more gently this time, I'd found the willpower to break the spell and turn away from that totally erotic sight. I'd stumbled almost directionless away from the hut, doing my best to rationalise what had been an unforgettably disturbing experience.

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The problem had been that my previous exposure to the pleasures of the flesh had been distinctly limited. At school the other girls had often talked about what they'd done with boys, especially in our senior years, but I'd put a lot of that down to bragging as opportunities in a girls-only school were distinctly limited. Being a bit of a shy soul, and a little scared to experiment, I'd managed to get through school a virgin. I'd had one or two encounters with boys, but nothing had gone beyond the fumbling and groping stage. I'd known all about the biological mechanics of sex, but that didn't make it appeal much in itself and coming from a rather puritan family, I hadn't felt encouraged to explore my boundaries, either with or without a partner!

Now I'd actually watched two people do it! And, ashamed as I'd been at the time, I'd felt excited and my own body had reacted in ways that had been quite unsettling. I'd disguised those feelings by building up some anger. After all, wasn't our French professor abusing his position by making love to one of his pupils? I'd even considered taking the matter to Miss Hendricks, our dour and aged headmistress. But when I'd recalled the look on Charlotte's face as she'd let him make love to her, I'd known deep down that there was no force involved and I'd have had no ally there, probably the opposite! She'd enjoyed every minute of it!